


Better Strangers

by littlerumbird



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Clawen, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-06-09 02:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15257091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerumbird/pseuds/littlerumbird
Summary: Picks up at the of Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom. Claire and Owen are trying to move forward, but they have a lot of steps to take. Trigger warning for panic attacks. They all have varying PTSD. This is my first Jurassic World fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I loved the movie, but I really don't see how Claire could've made it up to the roof on that leg. I plan to make this a multi-chapter fic, and least another chapter and hopefully more.

At first, she thought they were all perfect for each other—her, Owen, Maisie. Shared experiences. But less than twenty hours later, Claire isn’t so sure anymore. At first, she had convinced Owen that she was okay enough to travel. That Zia’s patch job was enough. That the bactine solution cleaned out the puncture on her leg, that no major vessels were injured. That they would all be okay after enough time and distance.

And she was right. Until she was wrong. Until it was hard to breathe. She wasn’t even sure what town they were in when the train roared past. The sound different yet just enough alike. “Owen, pull over.”

“Hang on, we can stop at the gas sta—”

“P-pull over now!” Claire ordered through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the edge of the seat, desperate for something to ground her. She gasped, and silently screamed at herself to slow down, to breathe normally, that everything was okay but it clearly wasn’t. She knew—knew—she was going to scare Maisie. And Owen. And, oh God, herself. Because there was air all around her, but she couldn’t get it into her lungs.

The car swerved, then corrected and slowed. Sounds were muffled now, and Claire could feel her vision narrowing a bit. She hated this. Hated every moment. Her chest tightened, and she gasped, hand flailing for something. A lifeline.

It was the solid grip around her fingers that caught her attention first. Surprising, making her jerk in reflex. And then Owen’s voice saying things she couldn’t really make out for a moment.

“—Right here. Okay? We stopped. I’m right here. You’re okay,” he was repeating. “Breathe out. You’re not breathing out, Claire.”  
He was right, and it was frustrating. Because exhaling shouldn’t be this hard. Another voice was behind her, anxiously asking something. Maisie. Probably freaked out by all of this. Maisie who needed a parent. And Claire had no clue how to be one.

“Hey, hey… look at me, okay?” Owen again. “This is like before. It’s already getting better. Soon it’ll pass. I’m right here, Claire. Can you feel my hand?” His fingers gave a light squeeze, then slid over her forearm in a gentle chafe.

She nodded, gasping again and letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he encouraged. “Can you feel the seat under you and behind your back?”

God bless him, he was grounding her. It was helping. Another nod. “Yeah.”

“What else do you feel?”

The next breath was easier, and she pressed her lips into a thin line as she thought. “My leg. Hurts. I think it’s getting worse.” She knew that the fact that she was even admitting that to him meant it was definitely worse.

“Yeah, I probably need to check that soon. Make sure those stitches look okay…” He settled back a little in the driver’s seat as she took another breath. “What can you smell?”

Her nose wrinkled slightly. “Your boots. You stepped in something and didn’t get all of it off before we drove… And sweat. The AC doesn’t work that well.” She reached for the water bottle she’d been working on before all of this happened and took a slow sip. “Thank you,” she added, flushing and hating how embarrassed she felt.

Owen didn’t start up the car, but instead he shifted to glance into the backseat. “She’s gonna be okay,” he assured Maisie.

Claire nodded to confirm, and took another careful breath as she let herself sink back into her own seat. She ran her fingers over the textured fabric of the seat, small aches in her body and the throb in her leg making themselves known. Her head ached a bit, too. She took a few steady drinks from her water, and tried to take stock. Her eyes flew open, and she straightened. “Owen, I don’t have my meds with me.”

“We can pick up something,” he assured, finally buckling his seatbelt and shifting into reverse. “There’s a store close—”

“No,” she shook her head, knowing he didn’t understand. “I, ah… I don’t have my Zoloft. I started it a year ago … for depression and, um… anxiety. I haven’t had it for… a few days at least?” She couldn’t remember now when she’d last take it. It was in her bag. The one she hadn’t really seen since the bunker on the island. She shivered as she thought about the baryonyx and the fire—lava, she silently corrected herself. The days blurred, though, along with the time zones. She should’ve had at least two by now. “This could get worse if I don’t…” She shivered at the formless thought, afraid of how much worse it might get. It was hard to imagine much right now, harder thinking about what they had just been through.

He nodded in understanding as he eased out into the empty street. “Okay... So we’re going to find a gas station. Find out where we are. Find an ER. We should all get checked out.”

***

Owen pushed himself up from the reclining chair, stretching his body tentatively. As it turned out, both he and Maisie had escaped the worst injuries. He had pulled a number of muscles, and he had one nasty bruise from the tranquilizer dart to his chest. The look on the tech’s face when he casually mentioned that injury had almost been comical. He had submitted to fluids and spent a boring two hours in a room letting that run while waiting on Claire.

Claire who had insisted he stay with Maisie.

He hadn’t liked being separated from her, not one bit. The last few times they were separated bad things happened. He knew she would argue that he still made the right decision—the decision to leave her in the display case and go after the Indoraptor and Maisie. Maisie would have been dead if he’d arrived any later than he had. He wasn’t sure how Claire had made it to them on her injured leg, even with adrenaline.

The soft sound of the latch disengaging made Owen jump a little, but as he turned he could see it was only the nurse on duty. Two hours since the last check. Three hours since Claire’s surgery. About eight hours since they had arrived at the hospital.

He was on the other side of the bed from the monitors, but Owen felt like he should be doing something. He had been tempted to crawl into the bed with Claire, but the hospital probably would’ve frowned on that. Both he and Maisie had used the shower in the restroom and were clad in scrubs.“Hey there, Sleepy head,” he murmured as he glanced down and caught sight of two pale eyes struggling to open.

“Mmmm,” came the groggy mumble. Followed by a grumbled, “ow.”

“Owen,” he teased. “It’s Owen.”

The nurse gave him a confused glance as she tapped updates into the tablet. “Miss Dearing, what’s your pain level on a scale of one to ten?”  
Quiet settled, and for a moment Owen thought she had fallen asleep again before she answered, “Seven?... My leg?”

“You had surgery,” Owen filled in the gap. “It was a little too deep for stitches, and they needed to debride it and repair a few of the blood vessels.” He took her free hand, chaffing it lightly in his. Carefully, he smoothed the blanket and eased it up over her shoulder. She hated to have her shoulder out. Although maybe that had been because her shoulder was usually bare when they fell into bed.

She gave a sigh and once both hands were free, Claire reached for the nasal cannula. “H-how bad is it?”

“It’s a pretty deep lac,” the nurse replied. “The doctor will be by in the morning to check it and update you. You’ll need to stay off of it for a while. No getting out of this bed on your own, okay?”

Claire nodded lazily. She plucked lightly at the oxygen line. “D’ I have to keep this in?” her words were slurring already from the drugs.

“For tonight. Your doctor will make recommendations in the morning,” the nurse answered. “Are you thirsty?”

She nodded and accepted the cup of ice chips Owen offered. It was dim in the room, but he could see that she was still pale. “Maisie?” she asked glancing around slowly as the nurse slipped from the room.

“Asleep on the bench,” he murmured, gesturing to the girl who was sprawled over a padded contraption that was part bench and part couch.

“She okay?” Claire asked around the crunch of ice. She tried to shift, cursing softly when the movement pulled against her injured muscles.

He reached over and gave her wrist a light squeeze. “Hey, easy,” Owen calmed her. “Scrapes and bruises all minor. I mean, probably some PTSD, too. But ‘medically sound.’” He saw the question in her eyes and supplied the answer before she could ask. “You and I were both dehydrated. I’m all patched, except for a few pulled muscles. You know, dangling off a roof while saving a child’s life and all.”

It made her crack a small smile, followed by an eye roll. “I feel like a dinosaur sat on me,” Claire admitted.

“Well, it sort of stepped on you,” he couldn’t help but remind her as he settled back into the reclined chair. “You scared me. You scared me a lot this time. Going to the island. The gyrosphere. The T-Rex. The Indoraptor. Having to leave you downstairs.”

“They’re all gone now anyway,” she sighed, eyes welling up with tears. “We didn’t save much of anything.”

“Except Maisie,” he added quietly. He reached out again, taking her hand and wrapping both of his hand around it. “You saved both of us on that roof, Claire. So get some sleep. You’re hopped up on opiates, and I see you fighting it. Right now we’re all safe. Zia’s getting back to the office, and she’s already started reaching out to get help to contain the animals. That’s not your job right now. We need you to heal first—Maisie and I need that. Okay?”

She gave another slow nod.

“I need a promise on this one,” he pressed, swallowing hard. One hand lifted, brushing strawberry blonde locks from her face, his thumb sliding across her cheekbone. “I need you, Claire. I need you to promise me. I need to hear it.”

Tears were falling down her face now, and she sniffed. “Promise.” Her fingers squeeze the hand still holding hers, and she gave a light tug. “Owen, can you, um… Lay beside me?”

He took in the bed and rails, along with her heavily bandaged leg, elevated by the bed and supported with two pillows. “That’s not a good idea.” Ducking, he gave her knuckles a kiss before easing her arm back down. It took a bit of maneuvering, easing the chair up against the bed and adjusting his blankets and pillow. One glance across the room confirmed that Maisie was still deeply asleep.

Owen climbed into his chair and pulled the blanket up before sneaking his hand across to hers. It took a little shifting and ingenuity to find the right angle that wouldn’t leave his arm aching in the morning. But it was worth it when Claire finally gave a light sigh and her breathing evened out. They had many plans to make, but it could all wait until they got some rest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm overwhelmed by the hits and kudos and such. The JW fandom has been amazing. Thank you for reading

The day after was worse, Owen thought grimly. He shifted uncomfortably in a plastic chair and bit back a sigh as he talked through the past day with yet another government official. They all wanted to talk to Claire, too, but he had put down his foot. The doctor had backed him firmly on this, and that was the only good thing about the day.  To be honest, he felt like crap. Every muscle was aching, making it hard to focus. And his ribs were the worst of it today, badly bruised but somehow not broken.

“But how did the animals escape?”

It was the inevitable questions, the one he hadn’t wanted to answer. Because there were five people who knew the answer. And he and Claire were both going to blame themselves. And Maisie. Maisie needed to be protected, even more than the animals. He hadn’t spoken of her to anyone, yet. For all the hospital staff knew, she belong with him and/or with Claire. No one had questioned her presence. Yet. And if he brought her up, there was no telling where she would be taken or if they would see her again. Knowledge of Maisie’s involvement, even secondary as Lockwood’s grandchild, needed to wait until they had some counsel.

“I didn’t see what happened,” he answered evenly. It was true. He didn’t see what happened. He was too busy trying to be supportive of Claire, to be there for her as they watched these animals they’d known slowly suffocating. “We were trying not to get killed by that monster that Dr. Wu engineered. The one they were trying to auction off with everything else.”

It was hours more of questions, the same ones again and again. His answers consistent. And so many photos of known traffickers. One he recognized as the many that had taken them around the island. Owen had no idea who had been killed by the Indoraptor. Or how many had escaped. In the search for a working vehicle, he had found way too much carnage. He felt bad for whatever team would be tasked with going through that house. Trying to decipher the deaths.

Whoever found Lockwood.

And Maisie’s room. Shit. The hours were winding down too fast, and he knew Claire couldn’t be moved. Not yet.

_A soft noise and the deep ache in his side woke Owen just as the room was starting to lighten from the sunrise. Something was moving against his hand, and his brain finally registered it was Claire shifting restlessly. “Hey,” he murmured, sitting up and trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “What do you need?”_

_She pressed her hands against her eyes and took a deep breath. “Everything hurts. My head. Leg… Feel cold…”_

_He caught the nearest hand and eased it back, gently untangling the IV line before feeling her forehead. “You’re running a fever. Fighting off an infection.” It wasn’t surprising because God knew what stuff that Indoraptor was carrying. Reaching across her and biting back a groan, he pressed the button to summon the nurse._

It was hours now since Owen had eaten, and he knew he was hungry. And tired again. And wondering about how Maisie and Claire were doing. Wondering about the dinosaurs. About Blue.

He couldn’t think much about Blue right now. It was too complicated. Too many unknowns. He hoped she was using that smart brain that kept her alive this long. That she was keeping to woods, away from people. Surely there were enough wild animals to feed off of. She could avoid the towns. Containment.

“Mr. Grady?”

Owen shook himself slightly and glanced down at the paper and pen that were pushed in his direction. “I’m sorry?”

“How can we contact you if we have further questions?” came the curt question.

He shrugged, instantly regretting moving. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t know how to answer that question, either. I don’t even know what happened to my phone or Claire’s. I think they’re buried under lava now. Or magma or whatever it is now. The island.”

“Do you have a permanent address, Mr. Grady?”

He gave a half shake in reply. “We’ll probably head to the Dinosaur Protection Group in San Francisco once Claire is released. But I don’t have the address on me.”  It was time to move, to leave the questions and, at the very least, check on his girls. It was strange how quickly he, Claire, and Maisie had become their own little group. Together. God, he and Claire had a lot to figure out. Owen ignored whatever else was being said and quickly slipped back down the halls, stopping only to use the facilities before letting himself back into Claire’s room.

Maisie was across the room in a moment, coming in for a hug. It was clear she hadn’t known when or if she would see him again.

It took Owen’s breath when he realized that kind of commitment it would really be to take in Maisie. To care for her permanently. It meant a lot of responsibility from both him and Claire. He could handle moment by moment decisions. He could handle escapes and rescues. But long-term care… Yes, he had managed to help rear velociraptors, but they lived in an enclosure, and he went home at the end of the day. This was drastically different, and the reality of that was starting to sink in.  “How is she?” he asked, wanting to include the girl.

“I want to go home,” Claire answered, giving him a scowl.

Maisie leaned into the arm draped around her shoulder and added in a whisper, “cranky.”

Claire sighed and gestured to her bandaged leg. “Owen, please take me home.”

He tried to offer a smile, but it didn’t carry very far. Under any other circumstances, without a child in the room, he would’ve teased her about that.  But Claire was too upset, and all he could do was try to wipe the tears away with his fingers and press a kiss to her forehead. Her still warm forehead. Damn fever. Her cheeks were flushed from it, but her face was pale underneath. “Hey, I’m right here. And you’re healing bit by bit. And you’re not nearly as dirty as you were after the first time.”

She scowled at him but apparently censored herself when Maisie climbed into the chair he’d slept in.  “You’re hurt, too,” she reminded. “I know we need to deal with the dinosaurs, but I really want to go to sleep in my own bed. Or go to Wisconsin and hide in a cabin until spring.”

“Hibernation,” Owen spoke up before settling himself into an empty corner at the foot of her bed, his hand resting lightly on her right thigh. “I thought you said hiding wasn’t the answer.” He was goading her, and he knew he shouldn’t. She was injured and sick, Maisie was here. But provoking each other was something they seemed to fall into far too easily.

She rubbed at reddened eyes and took the Kleenex he’d managed to scrounge up. “W-we need a plan.”

“Okay,” he sighed, caving to reality. She was right, and it was the same thought that was dogging him all day. “We’re in Paradise—”

Another scowl and Claire sank back into the bed. “Owen, please stop. I need you to be serious for one minute—”

He shook his head now and edged Maisie over to sit on the arm of the chair. “No, the town. The town’s called Paradise, California. We’re about three and a half hours from San Francisco. And I want to be in a real bed, too, but you’re still pretty sick. God, Claire, you had surgery yesterday You need rest and more antibiotics. And I know we can get you a prescription, but if we go to your place right now, you’re just gonna break out your laptop and stay up way too long and end up trying to fix everything in one night.”

If scowling and glares were Olympic sports, Claire would’ve won gold medals. But she didn’t argue. Which meant she knew he was right. And also meant she was recalculating.   

Shifting closer to make it easier to reach, he cupped her face, thumb brushing over her cheek. “Tomorrow, okay? Stay here one more night. Tonight. We’ll all try to sleep. I’ll get Maisie and me some real food. And tomorrow, unless your fever gets higher, we’ll leave.”

“What if it's worse tomorrow?” she asked, pale eyes cloudy and wide as she stared up at him.

Small fingers wrapped around Owen’s wrist, grabbing his attention in the process. “I-is Claire going to die?”

Damn it. They shouldn’t be having this conversation with Maisie present. He wrapped his arm around the girl, patting her back gently. “No, she’s not going to die.”

“I’m getting better,” Claire promised. “There’s just a lot happening right now. And it’s scary. We’re all a little scared. But I’m not dying.”

“Promise?” Maisie sniffled.

They reach out at the same time, hands wrapping around hers and giving their promise. Owen’s eyes lifted to Claire’s, and he mouthed his silent apology. It would be okay. They would make it okay.  And tomorrow they would be on the road again.  In the meantime, he needed to eat and rest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm astounded by the hit count. Thank you especially to those who have left such kind feedback. I had hoped to update last week, but it was terribly busy at work. I hope you enjoy this update.

Everything was different. At first, it was good and made Maisie feel better. Because if Claire didn’t know what to do, then Owen did. They had kept her safe. Right now, though, everything seemed hard. Because Claire wasn’t happy, and Owen was arguing with the hospital people. And Maisie only wanted to sleep, but every time she tried, the dinosaurs were there and eating Claire or Owen or her grandpa or her. Sometimes all of them.

“Thank you!” Owen finally said in a way that didn’t really sound thankful and the lady finally left the room.  “Maisie, did you grab your stuff?”

She nodded and tried not to yawn as she held up the two plastic bags. One bag contained her old clothes, which were dirty. The other bag had her new toothbrush and toothpaste, socks, and another change of new clothes, a book, and pajamas. If she thought about it very long, it was weird that the only things she still had from the only house she’d lived in was her dirty clothes and her shoes. Her shoes had taken her on a lot of adventures, mostly through the Cretaceous period. None of the adventures ever ended like that night had.

Moving across the room, she leaned against the end of the bed whilst Owen adjusted the metal crutches and helped Claire move to stand. Claire’s clothes were in a bag with Owen’s dirty clothes. She had new flannel shirt and shorts to wear instead of her hospital gown, but they were going to her home next so she hadn’t really needed as much. It took extra time for Claire to stand, her fingers holding tightly to Owen’s arm until she settled into the wheelchair a nurse had brought.

“Can’t Claire walk?” she asked, brow furrowing. She didn’t remember seeing her grandpa walk at all. It seemed like he was always in bed or in his chair.

Claire nodded as she adjusted the shirt around herself. “With the crutches I’ll be able to, but they make you sit in a wheelchair to leave the hospital. They want to make sure I get to the car okay, and this will be faster.”  She gave a small grunt of protest as Owen adjusted a piece by her hurt leg, and then she took the last two bags—her stuff and Owen’s—and held them.

“Ready to go, Mais?” Owen asked, opening the door to the room and then coming to push the wheelchair out.

Maisie nodded and joined them, her free fingers taking hold of the edge of Owen’s shirt. She’d never been in a place with so many people in it. There were people in small areas and in big areas like where she and Owen had to wait while they tried to fix Claire’s leg. She shifted closer to the wheelchair, relieved that Owen seemed to remember how to get outside again because there were too many hallways and elevators and doors.

Several cars rushed down the busy road, and close by a truck with flashing lights and noise rushed past. It took a hand on her shoulder to get her moving again, this time settling into the front seat with Owen so that Claire could stretch out her leg on the long seat in the back. Maisie bit her lip and struggled again with the buckle that they said she should always have in place. It didn’t line up right, and she couldn’t get it in.

“Hey, I got that,” came the warm voice beside her. Owen fixed that, too, then pulled his own into place before starting the car.

It was easier, somehow, when they were moving. When she was sitting for all that time in the hospital room, she wondered lots of things. Things she couldn’t ask Claire because she was sleeping so much and not able to think very clearly. Things she couldn’t ask Owen because he was always having to go do stuff and get stuff for them.

“Maisie, you with us?”

She blinked, surprised by the words to see Owen glance at her. As she toyed with the sleeve of her shirt, she nodded before asking, “What’s going to happen to me?”

The car was quiet for several long moments as they started down the highway. In the mirror, Maisie could see Claire shifting and trying to find a comfortable spot—Claire did that a lot over the last day or two. Around them, cars passed and wound their way through the small town. She was starting to think maybe no one was going to answer her question.

“We’re not exactly sure,” Owen finally said. “We’re going to do everything we can to make sure you’re safe, that you feel safe. One of the biggest reasons we’re going to San Francisco is because it’s harder for a dinosaur to move in that city. The streets are steep, and there’s a lot of noises and close buildings. So it’s safer for all of us.”

“Do you have any other family besides your grandfather?” Claire asked from the backseat, her eyes already closed. She looked as sleepy as Maisie felt.

Maisie shook her head. “No, it was just us. And Mr. Mills. And Iris.”

“Do you know where Iris lived?” Owen ventured.

It was hard to think about Iris—grumpy, stodgy old Iris. Right now, Maisie wished she could hear a scolding about Queen’s English and keeping a stiff upper lip.  It was much easier to endure a scolding than be without one.  She sniffled and rubbed at her eyes as hot tears pricked them. “Sh-she lived with us… I miss grandpa.”

“I know you do,” Owen said, reaching over to give her arm a soft squeeze. “You can talk about it when you need to, okay?”

She bit her lip and nodded before answering, “I don’t want to talk right now. But I miss him a lot.” Her fingers toyed with the sleeve of her long sleeve, and she lost count of how many cars passed by. She didn’t know when the small town gave way and sparse mountains lined one side of the room. “What was Mr. Mills going to do with me?”

Again there was long pause. Owen shifted a little in his seat and frowned as he moved from their lane to the other. “I don’t really know.”

“What if he tries to take me? Aren’t I meant to be with him? He said that he was my… guardian now. I heard him talking to Iris whilst I was in the dumb waiter.” Her stomach clenched at the thought, and she found herself twisting the sleeve of her shirt between her fingers.

Owen’s head shook, and he turned for a moment. “I promise you aren’t going with him. I don’t know what happened to him. We may or may not ever hear from him again. I think a lot of people would have a lot of questions for him if he shows up again.  Look, when we get settled at Claire’s place, we’ll start looking into finding out what we need to do to keep you safe.”

She sniffled and nodded. Owen’s hand reached out and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, but she wished he could hug her right now. Using her sleeve, she rubbed her nose and gave a small sigh before resting back into her seat.  It was the farthest she had ever been from Lockwood Manor. Over the years, she’d often wondered what other parts of the world looked like. And she’d wondered why it was so important that she speak Queen’s English when they had never bothered to take her to England.

It seemed to take both forever and hardly any time at all to reach the tall buildings of San Francisco. Time was funny like that, it is seemed warped more than usual in the last days. Only two and a half days, but it felt like a lifetime ago. And she had been sure she stayed awake, but yet she was startled when Owen nudged her and said they were close.

She’s seen pictures of places like this. Where people lived all packed in together.  Somehow, it didn’t seem like she would be allowed to wander in and out of building like she could at their estate. It wouldn’t be proper to walk into people’s homes. It made her head hurt a little to think about how many people lived in a single row of homes. And the odd streets, some which felt nearly like a ladder directly to the sky—those were almost as strange as the miniature train cars, which Owen had called “cable cars.” It was a relief to be told they had arrived and to be urged out of the car and into a building.

Owen had been right—she didn’t see how any dinosaurs could travel through the narrow streets. Maybe a new home wouldn’t be bad after all.

It took Owen to nearly lift Claire to get her inside. They took a lift and seemed to avoid saying any words to the man in a suit already inside who got off one floor before theirs. Maisie was relieved, if anything, because she couldn’t possibly have thought of anything polite to say. It was much easier to be directed to a sofa in the family room. She hadn’t meant to sleep, but she found it impossible to resist. Anything else would have to wait.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up surprisingly long. Thank you all for the kind comments and kudos and many readings. Please feel free to give me requests. I might to a series of one shots at some point.

She woke to a dark room, coming up out of sleep as though from the ocean only days before. Murky depths around her, and it took her hand brushing against soft sheets to realize she was home. Her home, at any rate. There was an all-too-familiar ache in her leg, but even that had subsided to a quiet pain. The apartment was reasonably silent.

But it was the warmth—heat, really—radiating from beside her and a restless energy that had pulled her from sleep. Owen. In the throes of some vivid dream or nightmare.

Their first nights after The Incident—the _first_ incident, she silently added—were spent in an uncomfortable hotel in Costa Rica. First cracks in her armor had appeared once Karen and Scott arrived, and she had wanted the earth to swallow her whole rather than face her sister. The forgiveness, however, had almost undone her. Still, Claire had managed to push through seeing others onto evacuation boats, Owen escorting her to her own suite on the island and more or less packing a handful of clothes for her before they made their own exit to the continent. She hadn’t wanted to be alone, and it had seemed he felt the same. So they had stuffed themselves into a tiny hotel room, where they attempted to sleep and she was miserable for the first three days when she finally let herself stop moving.

_It was awkward to lie down on the bed, holding the towel modestly around herself and biting back a protest at the way the cheap terry cloth grated over every single spot. Even a mild shower and an escape from sweat, grime, and dinosaur dung wasn’t as refreshing as Claire had thought it would be. Hours guiding people onto boats and doing her best to reassure others meant she was careless about the sun._

_Owen surprised her, though. He was shockingly gentleman-like, pulling the flat sheet over her legs and letting her settle on her stomach before easing back the towel. “Damn,” he’d hissed in sympathy before carefully easing onto the edge of the mattress with all the caution he showed in approaching his raptors. Her neck and arms were covered in sunburn, but the worst of it was the handful of angry burns on her upper arm where the flare had singed her._

_She didn’t remember much that day beyond the tight feeling of skin across her shoulder, cramping legs from traversing the island in heels, and nausea. And every so often Owen urging her to sip some water and muttering about her needing a doctor. He had spent the day between the other half of the bed and a chair at the tiny table in their room, less sick than her but also flirting with dehydration. The medical staff were too busy with the severe injuries. They made do. It took her nearly two and a half days to be able to do much more than lay there, finally able to stand a light cotton shirt and take notice of his own set of cuts and bruises._

Beside her, his body trembled as the air conditioner cycle kicked on. Claire reached for her beside lamp, switching it to the dimmest setting. In the low light, she could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the frown and etched a deep line across his forehead.  “Owen,” she murmured, hand carefully reaching out and carding through his hair.

His whole body jerked, and he twisted, eyes going wide.

“It was a dream,” she cautioned, hand stroking through his hair. “We’re in San Francisco. We’re safe.” Claire couldn’t remember how many times this had happened in the months after the incident. Waking each other from nightmares that were far too real.

Owen’s hand reached for hers, squeezing it hard as he took a shaky breath.

Her other hand wrapped over his, giving it an equally hard squeeze. It was their own secret language. One they’d never discussed or attempted to explain to each other. She suspected his dreams were worse than hers, even if she’d nearly seen him be eaten alive by a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Slowly, his free hand rubbed at his own face and then he gave a light squeeze which was the signal he was awake now. The signal to let go, which she did reluctantly.

“How’s your leg?” he asked, voice rough with sleep as he pushed himself up to sitting and attempted to straighten out the sheets.

She shrugged. “Hurts less.”

“Maisie?” was the second question.

“I haven’t heard a sound from the living room.” The apartment had an alarm that would alert them if the exterior doors opened. But Claire wasn’t thrilled about the idea of leaving Maisie a room away to sleep. Not that sleeping all together was a better solution. It was one of the dozens of things her brain finally had enough focus to begin considering.

Without waiting for another word, Owen was to his feet and shuffling across the room to check. He moved stiffly, the effects of his brawl at the auction obvious in his gait.

Claire was pushing herself up now, easing back the blankets and knowing that even at three in the morning she was too awake to go back to sleep for a while. She reached for the thermometer on the nightstand and decided she might as well do something while she waited for Owen to return. Taking stock, she was glad to realize it was the first time in at least a day or two that she wasn’t freezing. 

A soft beep sounded, and she pulled out the thermometer as Owen rejoined her, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Ninety nine point four,” she said as he walked around to her side of the bed.

“Good,” he replied, easing back the sheet and blanket covering her. “Maisie’s sleeping hard.”

Claire let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “Good.”

Glancing up at her for permission, which she gave with a small nod, Owen eased up the hem of her long sleep shirt. “Turn up the light, huh?” Once it was brighter in the room, he pulled out a medical kit and cut the bandage. It hadn’t bled through, which was a good sign.  “Easy, let me do the work,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her knee in a soothing gesture as muscles twitched while he attempted to ease off the last layer of gauze. His hand slid under her thigh, guiding it up enough and taking its weight as he worked off the bandage.

“Owen?” she tentatively asked.

“Hhm?” he stopped and glanced up at her.

“Before you finish up, I’d really like a shower. They weren’t really that focused on cleaning me up at the hospital, only my leg.” A nurse had helped her with a sponge bath, but Claire couldn’t even remember how many days it had been since she had washed her hair.

He considered this for several long moments before slowly pushing himself to his feet and bringing her crutches over. It took some maneuvering for both of them, Claire finally able to use the nightstand to leverage herself up and get steady enough to use the crutches. Their pace was matched on the distance to the bathroom, his hand at the small of her back in case she needed some to spot her.

Claire settled against the counter, resting and thinking it was absurd how much energy it took simply to cross her bedroom. A room that wasn’t terribly large to begin with—housing in San Francisco at a premium and all. And glance in the mirror had her turning away. She looked as bedraggled as she felt. And then some.

It took him several moments to settle a washcloth on the shower caddy and a fresh towel on the hook outside. He even set out her toothbrush and toothpaste, which she considered giving him grief for the implications. But Claire decided it was chivalrous that he took the time to think of the details, pulling out toiletries including her deodorant and lotion—yes, that vanilla-scented lotion—so she wouldn’t have to bend or twist to find it.

He was about to step out into the bedroom, when she caught his elbow.  “Owen, um… I don’t… do, ah, I need to cover the incision?”

Owen nodded. “Give me a sec.” He left her a moment before coming back with a water-proof bandage. He sat on the lid of the toilet, carefully eased the covering into place.

When his fingers brushed her lightly, she felt her body tense in response, face flushing.

“Ms. Dearing, this is purely utilitarian,” he deadpanned, using gentle pressure to make sure the bandage sealed and quietly scolding her to hold still and let him help.

She shivered in the coolness of the room, feeling emotions bubbling up. Emotions she was nowhere close to being about to process. “Owen—”

“Sssh, Red. I got ya.”

“R-red?” she protested, anything else she’d planned to say was lost in a whimper when his fingers ghosted over the now covered row of stitches.

“Blue’s taken,” he continued casually. It was his way of trying to calm her, talking to her steadily in that conversational tone he used with the raptors, with Maisie. “You definitely make my life colorful. Don’t like it, though?”

She shrugged, considering briefly. A moment later she realized it was his attempt to distract her further. To take her mind off of everything that had happened in the last days. “I slapped Karen once for calling me that.” But she’d never come close to slapping him for using it, and she knew that he knew that.

Owen let her shirt settle back again, nearly covering the bandage as he got to his feet and was about to leave her alone to shower.

“I don’t think I can do this without slipping,” she admitted, flushing pink. It was completely ridiculous. This was the man she had been with _for survival._ He had seen all of her, in several contexts. They had so much to talk through, and it felt like the list of things was only growing. And a part of her most certainly didn’t want to talk. Talking had led to a number of issues that separated them. Talking meant words she had deeply regretted. It was absurd that she’d told him to leave over driving a car. As though she hadn’t driven an armored car around the island in pursuit and then fleeing a pack of raptors and the Indominus Rex. As though she hadn’t single handedly lured a T-Rex to a dinosaur death fight. Owen had seen courage from her that no one else had. But neither of them liked not being in charge.

She wasn’t in charge right now. And she didn’t think Owen was, either. If she’d learned anything this time around, it was that Masrani was right—she most certainly wasn’t in control.

“Okay…”

Claire prayed that he wouldn’t ask her too many questions. She had to trust that he would take the next step here because she knew there were too many layers to her statement. They were slipping. Both on their own. She had no idea where it would land them this time, and Maisie two rooms away only complicated it further.

He moved carefully to the bathtub, starting the water and pulling the curtain mostly closed before grabbing a second towel. Owen, god bless the man, let the silence settle as he fussed with the shower dial, making several adjustments before finally sending the water to the shower head. He shucked the cotton shirt and sleep pants he was wearing in deference to Maisie in the house and his boxers and stepped into the shower.

It took her a few extra moments, steadying herself carefully and finding her balance before pulling off her own nightshirt and using one crutch and Owen’s steady hand to help her into the warm shower.

For the first moments, they shifted and hobbled a bit, finding their balance and space in the warm stream. His hands were cupping her elbows, eyes judiciously on her face as he guided her to the water.

She was the first to break eye contact, her gaze drawn by the ugly blue and mulberry bruise across his right chest. “What the hell happened?”

“Tranq gun,” Owen sighed, not surprised she noticed it immediately. It was his turn to hiss softly as her hands grazed dozens of other bruises, fingers drawing back before they touched the area where he’d taken the worst hits.

“Owen,” her voice caught and the emotional dam breaking before she could even attempt to staunch it. “They could’ve killed you.” She was shaking again, the same way she had in the ER after they finished the initial exam and put the pressure bandage on her thigh before surgery.

With his less injured side, he guided her against him, holding her and letting the water warm them for the long stretch. His hand found a steady rhythm, stroking her back, and she let him take a little of her weight as their skin pressed together. It was the two of them, protected. Everything else forgotten. The world steadying a little.  He bent slightly, lips brushing a rough and protective kiss to her forehead.

For a long time, Claire had assumed that everything was primal with Owen. Physical. But in the short months they’d had together after The First Incident, she’d felt foolish to realize exactly why he was so good at his job. He was highly attuned to everything happening. The undertones. Intuitive. Sensitive, even. He knew when to be gentle and when he could push for a reaction. And he knew that this moment was for the two of them, for reconnecting in a way that would’ve been marred by anything but gentleness.

She gave his hand a squeeze at last and reached for the shampoo while his hand settled on her mid back in quiet support. Utilitarian wasn’t the word for it. It was something like care. And concern. Steady as she managed to wash and condition her hair, followed by her face.

There was another set of awkward moments while she washed herself. At some point, she would want to shave, too. But for now, the shower was more than enough. The water finally was turned off, towels dispensed and they focused on themselves enough to dry off.

Her mind reeled at the mental gymnastics of climbing into clean clothes. That, too, Owen had prepared for in the form of her robe that was more than adequate for the rest of the night’s sleep. He let her shrug into it, then he helped guide her safely out again.

It took a bit more doing, but at last she finished drying herself off enough and made her way back to the warm comfort of her bed. Everything seemed a little better now, dry and clean. She’d meant to try to deal with the tangles the days inflicted upon her tresses, but even in that he was there and willing to help.

Owen shushed her protests about wet sheets and his shirt getting too wet. Instead, he settled himself near the middle of the bed and helped her stretch out, her injured leg supported by his own and a pillow. Once she was comfortable, he began slowly brushing a section at a time.

“We… accidentally became a family, didn’t we.” It wasn’t a question. Claire knew as well as Owen that it was true. She wasn’t sure if they were exactly parents, yet. But they were definitely a family.

“Yeah,” came a husky reply, his fingers lightly ruffling her hair before continuing to brush it.

She yawned and relaxed a little further. “Putting me to sleep.”

He gave a sound like a chuckle. “It’s supposed to. You should be sleeping.”

“I’m going to DPG tomorrow,” was her lazy answer. “I’ll take Maisie with me… need to make some phone calls… figure out what to do with her. Make sure she’s safe.” Full sentences seemed too demanding under Owen’s ministrations.

“Franklin’s trying to track down Iris. She’ll be key to getting some answers. Deciding what’s in Maisie’s best interest.”

“She left her behind, Owen,” Claire objected, eyes opening at this and attempting to twist to look up at him.

His hand gave her shoulder a gentle rub, guiding her back to her previous spot. “I didn’t say hand her over. From what Maisie said she overheard, Mills basically told her to leave and didn’t give her a choice. If she’d been there any later, she’d be Indoraptor food. And Karen’s talking to a lawyer, trying to get some feelers out for what we need to do if we’re going to fight for custody.”

“That’s not a question, is it?” she tried to look at him again, not liking the pause.  “Owen Grady?”

“We’re… I’m not sure what we are,” he admitted. “But I think that, at least right now, we are Maisie’s best shot at anything like a normal life. There’s a lot I’m willing to sacrifice. But I don’t want to screw that sweet kid up any more than Lockwood and Mills already did.”

Claire sighed, knowing he was right and unable to fight another yawn.

“And I don’t want to screw you up, either.”

Her breath caught. “Me, either.”

“And my ribs are bugging me. So can we have the fight about where we’re gonna live tomorrow?”

A small laugh escaped her, followed by a bigger yawn. “We can fight about it tomorrow,” she agreed.

There was another shift, followed by dark and then Owen’s arm settling around her shoulders. Claire shifted slightly, giving whispered apology when her elbow accidentally bumped his arm. It wasn’t exactly her favorite way to sleep. She preferred against his chest, but he needed to heal up before that would be bearable. Instead, she settled for tucked against him and gave his chest a light kiss, registering a returned kiss to the top of her head before she gave in to sleep again.


	5. Chapter 5

The hills took some getting used to, at least that’s what Maisie hoped. She struggled to wrap her head around why, exactly, the city was laid out on so many steep hills. Up one, down the other side. When they left the hospital and had traveled, it was for endless stretches on the highway with really nothing to stop them. This city was so different with stops happening again and again. They were in a person’s car—something Claire told her was called uber.

She remembered that word—uber. She had studied some French and had started to learn German, and she knew it meant “over” or “across.” Which sort of made since because the car took them over or across the streets. Three streets south, five more east and then around, around, around because of a one-way road.

The building they stopped in front of didn’t look like any kind of an office that Maisie had seen before. It looked like a warehouse. But she had learned that houses and businesses and offices didn’t look the same here. So she scuttled out of the backseat behind Claire, offering to shoulder the big bag Claire had brought along. It seemed like the older woman had enough to handle with the crutches.

Earlier today, Maisie had liked the idea of going to work with Claire. While the television held endless shows and there were plenty of books on the shelves at the apartment, she was used to being able to walk about freely and explore the manor and such at her own pace. She had times when she did her school work, but even that was hers to decide when and where. She’d finished much of her science and mathematics for the year, as well as at least half of her grammar and geography. Everything went online to her tutor, and it left her a lot of free time still to roam at leisure.

But looking up at the building, Maisie wondered now about who, exactly, would be working inside. Would there be many people in Claire’s office? Could she explore the building—so far that hadn’t been a thing that people did here. She fidgeted with the strap of the heavy bag and scuttled ahead only to hold open the heavy door so Claire could enter.

Whatever she had been expecting, the entry wasn’t exactly welcoming. Lockwood Estate had a wide, marble entry. And Iris met everyone at the door. Even Claire’s building had a nice entry with clean tiles and a two-story ceiling. This one was cramped in and concrete. Before she quite realized she had done so, Maisie found herself huddling down in the gray over-sized jacket Claire had lent her, one hand curling around the corner of Claire’s jacket.

It was the creak and groan that did it. A low, rumbling sound and a click that was just like that thing in her room. Her breath caught in her throat, and before she realized what she was doing, Maisie had backed into a wall. The solid feeling made her jump, and she whimpered as a hand tried to reach for her shoulder.

“Maisie!” The voice was insistent, demanding her attention.

But she shut her eyes and pulled her hands over her ears, sinking back against the wall and shaking her head hard. Her chest was heaving, and she tried to suck in air, but everything was dark and dank and too close. Something brushed her arm, and she yelped again, trying to scramble away. Fingers wrapped around her arm, pulling one hand away from her ear.

“Maisie, stop, it’s me!” Claire was in front of her now, trying to crouch down with her. “It’s okay. We’re okay!”

She tried to open her eyes and look, but her breath caught and she coughed hard. Everything was blurry, but something recognized the voice. Tears were falling now, and she couldn’t stop them.  And Claire was waiting for her, trying to sit down beside her on the dusty floor. She wanted her room. Her monkeys. Her grandfather. It felt like a hot bubble that she couldn’t keep down, and she gave another cough and a sob broke out.

Claire pulled her in, and this time Maisie went without protest, curling against the older woman and shivering and trying to find a way out of the tears that wouldn’t stop. Slender fingers were smoothing back Maisie’s hair and rubbing her back. She was saying something quiet over and over, but Maisie couldn’t hear it. It was what a lady on tv had called an ‘ugly cry,’ and she felt cold and tired by the time she could finally catch her breath and the worst of the tears stopped.

“It’s gonna be okay,” came the soft murmur. “I’m right here with you, Mais.”

She sniffled hard, and took a shaky breath. “I d-don’t like that sound,” she stammered.

Gently, Claire reached and wiped away the last of the tears on Maisie’s cheeks. “Which sound, sweetheart?”

“Th-that low one,” she murmured, shifting and burying her face against Claire’s shoulder. “Sounds l-like _it_ did.”

“Ah,” came a hum of understanding. “It’s scary when you get reminded of things like that. I didn’t like the sound of the train the other day, remember?”

Maisie nodded and rubbed her nose with her sleeve. "We had to go to the hospital."

“But we’re okay. We’re both okay right now.” She reached for her bag, arm digging in and finally pulling out a packet of tissue and handing some over.  “There’s no dinosaurs here. Only an office upstairs.”

Twisting the tissue in her hand, Maisie’s gaze dropped to the swirling dust on the floor. “I wish Owen was here.”

“Me, too,” Claire admitted with a sigh.

“And I wish I’d taken grandfather’s picture album,” she finally added quietly.

“I’m sorry.” An arm draped over Maisie’s shoulders, pulling her close again.

She didn’t remember Iris really hugging her. Her grandfather had sometimes. But she decided she liked it. Not just because it was cold and Claire was warm. “I used to wonder if there were pictures of me in it, too.  Or if there were any pictures of me at all…” She sniffled hard, and bit her bottom lip.

Claire pressed a kiss to the top of her head and gave her a light squeeze. “I bet you had a little thatch of light brown hair as a baby, like peach fuzz. And I bet you slept curled up with your tiny little fist under your chin like you did last night on the couch.”

Taking slow breath, she relaxed and let Claire shift her a little so her head was resting on Claire’s good thigh. Soft fingers ran through her hair again, smoothing it lightly.

“And you probably had your little mouth open just a bit, like you fell asleep in the middle of trying to say something very, very important. And,” Claire added, a warm smile in her voice, “that your first word was _precocious_ because that’s what you are.”

Maisie turned a little, peeking shyly up at her. “It was probably _incorrigible_.”

“No,” Claire deadpanned. “Never. That’s Owen.”

She was content to lay a few minutes longer like this, knowing they would have to get up at some point because it was cold on the concrete and people were probably wondering where Claire was. “Is Owen going to be home when we get back?”

“I’m not sure,” came the honest answer. “He had to go out of town. But he will be back as soon as he can. If he can’t make it home tonight, he promised he would call, remember?”

Maisie nodded. He had promised both of them that much while Maisie had tried a new kind of cereal called Lucky Charms that hadn’t been very flavorful but had definitely tasted sweet and had turned the milk in her bowl all sorts of colors. She finally smoothed out the tissue and blew her nose a couple of times before finally sitting up.

Her head felt a little fuzzy and her eyes were achy now from crying. It was easy to let Claire direct her to the small bathroom tucked beside the elevator. Claire soaked several brown paper towels and gently washed Maisie’s face.  From the big bag, she produced a small brush and smoothed down Maisie’s hair.

“Better?” Claire finally asked. When Maisie nodded quietly, Claire checked her ponytail and blew her own nose before handing over the bag and taking her crutches.  “Okay. Ready to see the headquarters of the Dinosaur Protection Group.”

“Yes,” came her answer. She held the bathroom door open and tailed Claire to the elevator again.

The sound wasn’t as scary this time, more of a clank before the doors slowly parted.  It took a little work for Claire and Maisie to coax the doors all the way open, and they had to edge in sideways, which was harder for Claire on the crutches.

“Oooookay,” Claire breathed, and Maisie could see the way her fingers trembled before she squeezed hard on the cushioned hand grip of her crutches.

Maisie sidled closer and gave her hand a soft squeeze.  “We’re okay,” she offered in a small voice.

The taller woman let out a shaky breath and nodded.  “We’re okay.” The words repeated steadily as the doors shut all the way and the elevator began to rise.  “We’re okay… we’re okay.”


	6. Chapter 6

If Lockwood Manor was creepy enough the first time, then Owen had no idea what to label it this time around. Claire would know. But she wasn’t here. And injury or not, he wanted neither her nor Maisie anywhere near this place again. He wished his old SEAL team was here to back him up, but the place was swarming with the alphabet soup of federal agents. The day had been long as is, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was still possible he might end the day in some sort of containment cell.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he was finally allowed upstairs through the maze of hallways. He never thought he would be thankful for the path of destruction the Indoraptor had left in its wake because he would’ve struggled to remember exactly where Maisie room was.

Like the rest of the manor, the events of the last days were immediately obvious in the heavily damaged stairs complete with gouges and claw marks. It smelled both dank and held traces of the pungent scent of carnivores.  It was almost as bad as the mess of scavengers, like the ones that found Lockwood—something Owen hoped to God that Maisie would never find out.  He moved quietly and carefully, even if the building was cleared.

_“Most of the, ah, carnage was limited to the room downstairs—” Agent Berg noted, guiding Owen toward what had once been the display room._

_“At the auction,” Owen finished grimly. Broken glass crunched under his feet, and he could tell that the rainfall since that night had only further damaged the once impressive room. A cloudy sky was visible through the broken glass atrium.  The room smelled worse much worse than the foyer—even with a broken ceiling, the rot of dead animal permeated everything. He couldn’t help but glance back over his shoulder and suppress a shiver._

_The agent didn’t miss the gesture. “It was, ah, removed yesterday.” He took a wide route to the elevator, carefully avoiding a large still-damp stain of dinosaur blood.  “We found some surveillance footage that gave us an idea of the buyers, of who left with what, some of the deaths accounted for. But not all of the areas had surveillance, and the power went off for a portion of the night…”_

_Owen grunted in acknowledgement, wondering if the control room contained any cameras. He didn’t think so. It made him wonder how much they really knew. And if he was going to be able to make it back to Claire and Maisie within the next day or so. As safe as the apartment in San Francisco was, he loathed the idea of leaving them even for a night._

_He had, however, discovered something this morning. Having Claire around meant he slept through the night after their shower. It took the alarm to rouse him, and he suddenly realized how much he missed waking to the scent of her shampoo and lotion. The steady weight sprawled across him had grounded him._

_“Mr. Grady?”_

_The elevator door was standing open. The smell of industrial cleaner made Owen’s nose twitch, but it was a vast improvement over carnivore stench and death, so he strode forward with feigned casualness. His phone would be more or less useless underground, and he tried not to think about that. Claire knew he’d arrived safely. They had a check in planned for two and a half hours from now. They couldn’t possibly make a plan for this, so they did the best they could._

_And a plan couldn’t have prepared Owen for the sight in the room where the auction had taken place. It was almost as it had been when he left. Only bloodier. The floor was sectioned into crime scene grids, and everywhere agents in coveralls were taking photographs, tagging evidence, and noting extensively. If any carnage remained, it had already been collected—hopefully somewhere refrigerated to keep it from decaying further. But the room smelled of blood and death._

_His entire body trembled when he stepped from the elevator, and he felt the distinct urge to vomit. It wasn’t the smell. Or the sight. There were too many associations. But he was too well trained to give into it. With a slight shake, Owen squared his shoulders and took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out through his mouth._

The hallway smelled better than the rooms he had been in for hours. It had a musty odor, and debris littered the floor. Scratches ran along the flooring.  He was getting closer, and Owen knew he needed a moment before going into the room. Leaning against the wall and double checking to be sure he really _really_ was alone that no dinosaurs were lurking, he pulled out his cell and tapped out a quick text.

_Call me, need to talk. Alone._

Carefully avoiding looking into the room, he moved toward the window at the very end of the hall and took in the view. The wide entrance to Lockwood Manor gave away very little about the horrors it held.  Six agency vehicles were parked outside, two armed agents walking a steady patrol.

It was ridiculous. He had served tours that could top any movie of the week. But he still jumped when his phone rang.

“Hey,” he managed, holding his breath for the three seconds it took Claire to echo his greeting.  “Are you where you can talk?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “Is… is everything okay?”

Owen took a slow breath and considered the answer.

“Owen?”

“Mostly. I’m okay,” he added quickly. “How are you and Maisie?”

“My leg is achy. Maisie’s hanging out with Zia at her work station. I’m in the conference room. What’s it like there?”

“Ugly,” he answered succinctly. “You don’t want the details. Wheatley and Mills are dead. Eaten.” He almost managed the last word without his voice shaking.

“So what about Maisie?”

Well, that was the questions, wasn’t it. “The agents had questions. They found her room. I think almost everything in the lab was cleared out but most of it burned. Agent Berg and two NSA agents are probably going to have more questions later. They’re focused on the dinosaurs. I think everyone was glad to know a kid made it out okay.”

“You’re okay?” she asked again.

“It’s… bad,” he admitted. “Look, I’m getting out of here soon. I’ll be in tonight. It may be late, but I’m sure as hell not staying here. I’m… I’m about to go into her room.”

There was quiet on the end of the phone.

_“You said you had questions,” he managed._

_Agent Berg led him through a path that had already been cleared, skirting the cage where the Indoraptor was first brought into the auction room. “Footage cut out, like I said. From the looks of it, we can account for at least two dozen deaths.”_

_Owen knew they had been lucky—damn more than lucky—that Claire, Maisie, Zia, Franklin, and he had made it out with only Claire’s leg injury and a hell of a lot of nightmares. He was sure some of those deaths were by panic and stupid decisions. But he was certain that a large number were simply caught in the Indoraptor’s rampage. It was like the Indominus all over again—animal raised in captivity, moreso this time, just starting to discover its power. “What about Wheatley? Great white hunter type, rumpled and worn fatigues, always wore a military style cap?”_

_The agent grimaced. “That big dinosaur did him in. He started it all—opened that cage and let it loose. It ate his arm first, then ate him alive. That was clear as day on the footage. Trust me, you don’t want to see that.”_

_It was better now that they were moving toward the docking bays, away from the remnants of the worst of it. “Mills?”_

_A small shake of his head, and Berg replied, “The Tyrannosaur and another big dinosaur got him. Right outside the dock.”_

_Owen didn’t know how to feel about this. Relieved, yes, that the man wouldn’t have any claims on Maisie. He shuddered to think of how that would’ve ended. He couldn’t help but think Mills deserved it, as much as Wheatley. They’d left him, Claire, and Franklin for dead on the island. Left both Claire and him to rot in the cell._

“Owen?” the way she said his name, he knew she’d probably said it at least once already.

“Yeah,” he swallowed and stepped into Maisie’s room.  “I know I promised I would try, God, Claire… it’s… I don’t know what I can salvage.”

“She doesn’t know where you are. I… I didn’t want her to be upset. Or get her hopes up… It was a rough morning.”

“I can talk to her,” he offered. “I mean, I know you can do this.” Shit, he was messing this up. He wanted Claire to feel confident. She managed thousands of people every day at the park. Managed the hell out of her staff at DPG. She could parent Maisie without him. And he hated that thought.

“No…it… It was me,” she admitted softly. “The, ah, the elevator this morning. It sounded like… the bunker doors when they shut and locked us in.”

He had expected the gyrosphere to be the worst of it for Claire. Or the attack in the display case. Suddenly he was realizing how much they missed in that short hour or so apart. Before the island literally tore itself apart. And he wanted to punch Wheatley in the face. Or break something.

“She sat with me,” Claire admitted, her voice thick. “And she kind of lost it, too. The sounds. Listen… we’ve got to get some help with this. And I don’t mean DHS. And, God, you’re in the room…”

He swallowed hard and winced as he heard something break under foot. Knick-knacks. Things that had been important to a kid who had lost just about everything that mattered to her. “I need help here. I don’t know what to look for,” he admitted.

“Clothes. She’ll outgrow them quickly, but at least it’ll be something familiar. Maybe… maybe any books that were by her bed? She was probably reading those.”

He sighed and cast about. “Most of those are pretty shredded… Stay on the line?”

“Of course.”

Moving carefully so as not to trip, he pulled away some of the larger debris blocking the splintered door of her wardrobe. He had brought a duffle, and he hoped this counted for something. Gave Maisie at least a little something back. Scooping out any clothes that weren’t shredded, he dumped it in and figured Claire could sort it later.

On a bottom shelf he found a few books that weren’t covered in dried blood or ripped apart. He also snagged a little music box from a corner, and two toy monkeys that were dusty and could use a run through the washer but weren’t trashed. “This feels like a waste,” he admitted finally.

“Owen, you went back up there. She… she may not understand what that takes. Maybe she never will. But I do. Anything you give her is more than what she had. Come home, please? Try not to beat yourself up over this while you drive… You saved her, Owen. Without you, she wouldn’t have made it out.”

He took a shaky breath and swallowed, crunching his way out. He hoped those agents had enough answers because he was never coming back here again. Ever. It was time to go back. To go to the closest thing he’d had to home in a long time.  It took a flight of stairs, half a hallway and Claire’s voice to bring him back again. “I’ll be home tonight,” he vowed quietly. “Will you be okay?”

“We’ll be okay,” she answered. “I’ll be waiting up.”

“It could be late,” he warned. “At least midnight. You need rest—”

“I’m waiting up for you,” came her promise.


End file.
